


True

by nightrose



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Blindfolds, Body Calligraphy, Body Worship, Dom/sub, Fluff, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightrose/pseuds/nightrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has a fantasy about writing on Grantaire's body. Grantaire somewhat reluctantly agrees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True

**Author's Note:**

> Just to clarify: the dubious consent is very mild. Like, I wouldn't classify it as dubious at all, but Grantaire is definitely a little nervous, and there is some misunderstanding about exactly what the scene will involve, so I want that to be crystal clear.

“Grantaire, would you like to try something new tonight?” Enjolras suggests as they’re curled up on the sofa, reading together.

“A scene?” Grantaire asks, perking up immediately.

“Yes. I have an idea.”

“You know I’m always up for something new.”

“I wanted to run this by you.” Enjolras squeezes his hand. “I wanted to blindfold you and write on you. I’ve been looking at some images of that sort of scene, and it’s very appealing to me. Probably something to do with how much time I spend writing. Or how crazy you drive me when you have paint on your arms. Or both.”

Grantaire takes a moment to think about it. He’s seen the same images Enjolras is talking about. In fact, the last time he jerked off, it was to a picture of a pretty girl with “I am a whore for my master” written on her ass in black ink. The idea appeals to him, he can’t deny it.

It also frightens him, because the things he sees written down are always degrading—that image had been one of the milder ones. He doesn’t mind humiliation, in the abstract… but applied, it makes him nervous. He wants to keep his depression at bay, if only for Enjolras’ sake—because he knows how badly it would make Enjolras feel if they did a scene that triggered Grantaire, and that’s the last thing he wants.

Enjolras is always utterly indulgent with aftercare—he seems to genuinely enjoy lavishing Grantaire with affection and praise after a scene. They’ve been able to experiment with a little dirty talk every so often, and there hasn’t been a problem yet, but Grantaire isn’t sure how he feels about the words being written on him, where he’ll have to look at them every time he looks down at his body for a while, maybe a whole week, and deal with Enjolras’ guilt…

“Okay,” Grantaire agrees.

“Sure, love? You seem a little hesitant.”

“I’m sure. Just… nowhere that clothes won’t cover. And… and nothing more than you would say, okay? Nothing too…”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“You know. I can’t… I can’t promise I won’t get upset, if you…”

“It’s all right. I love taking care of you afterwards. But if you don’t want to do this, then I don’t want to do it.” 

“Have I told you recently that you’re perfect?”

“Not since I brought you your coffee this morning.”

“Mm. Well you are.” Grantaire leans in for a kiss. “You are extremely, almost obnoxiously perfect. It would get annoying, if you weren’t so sweet about it.”

“I love you, Grantaire.”

“I love you too. And we can try it, if that’s what you want.”

“Okay. You know I’m prepared to take care of you afterwards, and please stop me if you’re getting anxious.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire promises.

Enjolras leans in, kissing him hard, biting at his lips. “Take off your clothes, whore,” he orders, and Grantaire smiles. 

“Yes, sir.”

Grantaire is naked by the time they get to the bedroom, dropping his clothes on the floor. “So beautiful,” Enjolras breathes, “and all mine.” He steps close to Grantaire, deftly blindfolding him with his cravat. He caresses Grantaire’s cheek, fingers warm and gentle against his skin, and then slaps him hard. 

Grantaire moans, leaning into the slap just as eagerly as he had Enjolras’ gentle touch. 

Enjolras’ hand comes down on his shoulder hard, shoving him back and onto the bed, and then Enjolras is on top of him, kissing him fiercely. He tugs at Grantaire’s hair, biting his lips brutally. “I’m not going to tie you down. You’d better stay where I put you, though.”

“Yes, Master.”

“If you move, I’ll have to beat you later. It would be a shame to get big bruises all over the pretty words that are about to be on my lovely boy.”

“I’ll be good, Sir.”

“You always are.” Enjolras brushes an affectionate kiss against his lips. “Now, I want you to get on your stomach on the bed. Spread your legs and put your hands up above your head.”

Enjolras shifts to the side and lets Grantaire do as he’s been told. When he’s in position, Enjolras reaches over to the bedside table, for the pen he’s left there. It has a somewhat sharp metal point and a smooth ink-flow. It’s his favorite pen for essay writing, and Grantaire starts as it’s pressed against his skin, but not enough to really count as a movement.

“Settle for me, there’s a good boy.”

“Sorry, Sir.”

“You’re doing perfectly,” Enjolras murmurs, finishing the first word, writ large against the small of Grantaire’s back, and moving the pen to the curve of his ass. He writes something in delicate script across the left cheek. Grantaire tenses at the first touch, and then relaxes. It hurts just a little, a slight sharp pain that feels so good. Enjolras moves over to the other side of his ass, writing something there as well. 

The pen presses against the small of Grantaire’s back, writing out something else. This is a shorter phrase, in bolder letters. Then something else- it feels like Enjolras is circling what he’s just written. Emphasizing it, and Grantaire tries not to imagine what it might be. He focuses on holding still and being good. 

There’s more writing, short scratches across the flat plane of his back. Enjolras is writing something long, sentences that stretch across his skin from his shoulders to his lower back. When he’s finished whatever that was, Enjolras adds notes on his upper arms, and then something on the back of his neck. 

“Stay,” Enjolras urges, and Grantaire holds himself perfectly still, responsive to Enjolras’ command. “Such a good boy, you’re being so good, I need you to lie nice and still so your words don’t smudge. Then I’m going to turn you over and do your front.”

“Yes, Sir,” Grantaire murmurs, and Enjolras kisses the top of his head and takes his hand and they wait. Grantaire can feel Enjolras’ cool fingers sifting through his hair, soothing and pleasant, and he relaxes until Enjolras’ voice echoes in his ear.

“Over now, love,” he orders, helping Grantaire lie flat on his back, legs spread. Then there’s the pen again. 

The scratching is strangely relaxing. The pain is slight and stinging, Grantaire’s favorite quality in pain, and the way it fades in and out in intensity is almost lulling him. 

Something touches his face and he flinches before realizing that it’s Enjolras’ hand. Before he does, though, Enjolras is already asking, “What’s wrong? Talk to me, love.”

“Sorry, Sir.”

“Don’t apologize. Tell me what’s the matter.”

“Just… I thought you might be about to write on my face, for a second—I’m sorry, I know you wouldn’t, not after I asked you not to, it was only a second—“

“Yellow,” Enjolras says. “We need a time out. Do you want me to take the blindfold off?”

“No, please don’t.”

“Something about this scene is difficult for you,” Enjolras states. “It has been clear since I first suggested it, but even more so now. You know I don’t want you agreeing to things for my sake alone.”

“I know. That isn’t why I agreed, I liked the idea as well. It’s just… I got a little nervous, is all.” Grantaire bites his lip. “I… you know how edgy humiliation makes me, you know how much it turns me on and how much it terrifies me. It’s so sensitive, and no matter how well you know me—and you do know me, sometimes better than I know myself—I worry that… that something you’ve written will be too much. Triggering. And I don’t want you to feel guilty for a week or whatever til it wears off.”

Enjolras caresses his cheek. “Oh, R,” he says sadly, then, “Sweetheart, can we time back in to the scene?”

“Yes, Sir,” Grantaire agrees. He’s confused, though—he had expected his admission to make Enjolras call things off. He almost hadn’t made it for that reason, but he’s working on being more honest, especially with Enjolras, especially during scenes. 

“That’s my good boy. Such a good boy. Just one more thing, and then you can see, my love.”

Enjolras writes something else, in broad letters down his chest. Grantaire holds still, perfectly still, letting Enjolras mark him. 

“There we go,” Enjolras says. “And before I show you, pet, remember that all of this is true. As we agreed, I didn’t write a word I don’t mean with all my heart.”

“Y-yes, Sir,” Grantaire stammers, and Enjolras pulls the blindfold off him and kisses him deeply.

Enjolras helps him stand up with his back to the mirror in their room. Grantaire doesn’t spend a lot of time looking at himself—in fact, he tries to avoid it—and the angle makes it a little difficult to discern some of the words covering his body.

Enjolras’ cool fingers touch the large block of text on his upper back. “Shall I read it to you?”

“Yes, please.”

“Good boy. It says: ‘I respect you and your autonomy as a human being deeply, and every day I am honored that you chose to use that autonomy to submit to me. I will never forget that your submission is a generous gift, and I will always be grateful that you have chosen to trust me with yourself.’” Enjolras pauses. “Are you rolling your eyes at me, boy?”

“It’s just so you.”

Enjolras smacks his thigh, where there’s no ink. “Brat,” he murmurs, but there’s no heat in it at all. He lets his fingers trail up to the marks on Grantaire’s ass. There’s one word on either side. One says ‘owned,’ and the other, ‘mine,’ and Grantaire feels a flare of want go through him as Enjolras reads out the words. Enjolras strokes his hands across the words and then moves his fingers up to the curve of Grantaire’s lower back, where the words Enjolras had circled are written. There, in large letters, it says, “My good boy.”

Enjolras presses his lips to the back of Grantaire’s neck as he reads out the words written on Grantaire’s arms—“strong” on the left and “brave” on the right. 

On his neck, Enjolras has written, “I promise I will keep you safe.” He reads the words out, and then kisses them gently, and only then does he realize that Grantaire is crying. Immediately, he pulls Grantaire into his arms. He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just holds Grantaire, but then he realizes Grantaire’s tears aren’t going away on their own. Eventually, he murmurs, “I’m so sorry, R.”

“What- what are you sorry for, Sir?”

“I made you cry, love, I should have stopped when you were upset-“

“No, no, this is happy crying, this is… This is the most amazing, the most… You’re perfect.”

“No. You are,” Enjolras says, his fingers brushing against Grantaire’s stomach, and Grantaire realizes the words are written there. He reads out the different phrases on his front. Around his belly button, Enjolras has written “This is an adorable stomach.” Under his pecs, it says “You are beautiful.” 

“I’m—I’m not, though.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Enjolras gently touches the words written on Grantaire’s chest, right over his heart. It says, in the largest letters of all, “You are loved.”

“I was going to just write ‘I love you,’ but I’m not the only one who does and I don’t want you to forget how much you matter to so many people: to me, to our friends, to everyone you meet who you make smile or laugh. Oh, R, don’t cry-“

“Sorry,” Grantaire says. “Sorry. But it’s too much. You have to understand, before you… before you no one ever told me any of this, and now…”

“Like I said. Every word of it is true.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Enjolras hesitates. “Sweetheart, can I ask you something?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“What did you think was going to happen? You’re clearly surprised by what I wrote, what were you expecting?”

Grantaire shrugs. “Oh, you know. Dirty stuff. Cockslut, filthy whore, that sort of thing.”

“That sort of thing?”

“I thought it might get a little more intense than- than some of the things you say.”

“Can you explain to me what you mean?” Enjolras says, infinitely patient. 

“Um. Well. There’s some stuff, I mean I’ve seen in pictures of this sort of scene. Y’know, more intense humiliation. Like the kind I don’t like.” Grantaire can’t bring himself to say aloud the words he’s imagining, the picture he saw of a young man, his face cropped out of the image, with ‘ugly worthless whore’ written across his chest, right where Enjolras has written “You are beautiful” on Grantaire’s.

“So why did you agree to do this?”

“You hardly ever suggest a scene, I just… I wanted… And don’t make that face, it wasn’t all for your sake, I liked the idea. It just… It freaked me out a little.”

“Anything in particular you want me to avoid saying or writing? Would it upset you if I were to write ‘slut’ on you?” 

“No. It’s not that, I wouldn’t mind that, that’s why I agreed. I just… Okay, I saw this picture, and, uh, the guy had all kinds of things written on him, ‘worthless’ and ‘ugly’ and that sort of thing, and I couldn’t handle… that.”

“I would never, ever do that,” Enjolras assures him. “Not unless you asked me to, and even then… I’m not sure if I could. But I would never want that. I know that, for my sake, you like to pretend otherwise, but I also know you do think things like that about yourself. I know that you think so much less of yourself than I think of you. I would never want to degrade you like that, never want to make you intentionally feel low and… and terrible about yourself. I want to make you feel better. I want you to believe that you are beautiful and worthy, that you deserve me. Because I know you may have trouble believing that, but it’s true. Every word I wrote was true, my love. Is true.”

Grantaire surges forward and kisses Enjolras passionately and deeply. “I love you,” he whispers against Enjolras’ lips. 

“And I love you.”

“I know,” Grantaire says, teary-eyed. “Sometimes I forget, but I do know.”

“You should have talked to me about your worries before the scene. I wanted to surprise you with the words, yes, but… as much as your reaction is probably partially relief that I didn’t intend to hurt and debase you, and as much as I am glad to see you so happy as you are now, I would have wanted… I didn’t think you would assume it was my intention to degrade you. I would not have wanted you to spend so long thinking I was going to, and I would have gladly explained my intention if you had asked.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Grantaire says. “But I was willing to trust you. I may have my doubts, but it isn’t you I’m doubting.”

Enjolras takes his hand and draws it up to his lips. He gently kisses each of Grantaire’s callused knuckles. “And remember that I have my own qualms about this. I am so, so frightened that I will hurt you one day, that I’ll go too far and do you some harm I cannot repair. You, who are so irreplacably precious to me. I want this to be a good thing between us, something that pleases you.”

“I know. It’s just… you so rarely ask for anything. I know it’s because you don’t want to pressure me but. I just. I want to make sure you get what you want, too.”

“I do,” Enjolras starts to assure him.

“Because being with you is a literal dream come true for me, and you’re so… fuck, I can’t believe you did this, it’s so goddamn thoughtful and wonderful and I just… I want to do things for you, too.”

“You did this for me. You give me so much. As I said- as I wrote- you give me yourself.”

“As if that’s enough.”

Enjolras gathers him close and kisses his forehead. “That’s everything. You are everything I could want.”

“Thank you,” Grantaire says. “For this. For… I was, I am, so right, to trust you with everything. With myself. You always take care of me, even when I don’t ask for it the way I should.”

“I try. It would help, you know, if you would tell me these things. But I’m so glad I didn’t go too far. I’m so glad you’re all right, love.”

“I’m much better than all right. I’m wonderful. I even…”

“Yes?”

Grantaire smiles. “I think I might… believe some of it.”

Enjolras returns the smile, holding Grantaire tight in his arms. “Good. Because, like I promised, every word is true.”


End file.
